Thursday, February 28, 2008

The pressure is on. And come Monday, most of the pressure will be gone. But at the moment, it's on, in a big way. I am at full capacity and am ready to burst.

So why now? What on earth could possibly give MM the idea that now was the best time to get emotional?

He's probably feeling the pressure too. And we have to prop up each other. But he isn't doing anything. So....I don't understand. More on this later. But who wants to bet that later I've slapped him accross the face and gone to live at the train station?

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Oh how I shiver when people know! They know! And it shames me as much as it gives me a strange sort of pleasure. It is nothing short of hillarious and wonderous to witness the difference in reactions between me and my lover, Sir.

His words, last Friday, were as such: They would accept my if I was a gay man or a lesbian, and they will accept me for this. This was promptly followed by being held up by my neck and paraded for all to observe. Which they did, with a gentle, mocking scorn heaped on my lover. But I was so proud that I was his, so very very very very proud. To have someone who could accept our nature, or his nature, and that's what it meant. It meant that it was his nature. It isn't something I have coaxed him into, or forced him to do. It is his nature.

I am ashamed. I am ashamed and it puts me in a predicament when asked to do things which mean the complete surrender of my dignity. When asked to kiss the floor I hesitated. Hesitate! I ask you. Though I will gladly bend over, and I will gladly be pinned to whichever surface you like, or try my hardest to work on whatever task I've been given. I can say when that happens that it was under durress, there is deniability. Bit pitiful really. But the little rush of joy I get when I sit down and pain shoots up my thigh and my back is enough to comfort me.

But when people know! Oh! It is a guilty pleasure. The Shunt Lounge is by this point well aware of our extra-curricular activities. To be babysat (for want of a better word) by two perverts who are holding my leash, however pitiful they may be at punishment, is just...heaven really. To be referred to as nothing but 'it' is it's own reward. To have people know and accept is wonderous.

To have people know and be wary is also a guilty pleasure, though in a very different way, and I can't figure out if my flat mate knows or is just an awful pervert.

FM: Are you ok?Me: Oh yes, well, no. I'm in trouble.FM: Oh! Have you been a naughty girl.Me: (Ignoring that and searching through my bag) I lost MM's credit card. I can't find it anywhere. Oh I'm in troubleFM: Oh! Naughty ES, very very very naughty. Oh ES, ES, ES, ES. Bad little girlMe: (catching on at this point) Yes, and I'm panicking a little at the moment.FM: Well! Go sit outside and calm down then.Me: (getting worked up to the point when almost any instruction would be taken) Yes, yes I will.

Now he's in the room next to us. I assume he's heard us fucking, and I assume he's heard me cry out when I've been whipped. If he can hear the riding crop or anything MM is saying though then the walls are officially too thin and I just have to stick up my chin and bear it.

Saturday, February 23, 2008

Why does anyone care when I arrive at work? No, wrong question, why is it that no one who I actually work for gives a crap about when I arrive at work, and yet a woman who I barely speak to in the course of a lifetime cares so very very much that she's going to dock my pay for every precious second which ticks away while I go to the bathroom. Why?

I could understand if her soul purpose at this hell hole we call 'work' was to inspect when I arrived at my desk. But its not. And what gets me the most is that she sits on the complete other end of the department. She cannot see into our office. How does she know when I arrive? If she checks my log-in times thats just laughable, I'll get the cynical bastard who sits opposite me to log me in. He won't mind, it's 'breaking the system man'. And if she doesn't! Well then she just sits there every morning with a pair of binoculars scouting me out, which makes me think she secretly wants to ask me out on a date.

Ah, I love goat day. A chance to wow everyone with my historic knowledge and to disgust fishies when I openly proclaim that their saint was in fact a paedophile and animal abuser (true! Look it up). In truth though, those are the only reasons I like it.

The sickening onslaught of the word 'flowers' when you enter any crowded area is just unreal. I could handle it, I would infact have a wry smile on my face, if every now and again some smarmy businessman who has obviously never felt the warmth of a human touch since he left home says: 'Well, I'll get her flowers' but no! It's everyone! People at work, people on the tube, people who sell newspapers to you, people who just happen to be within earshot and hope to hell that they're going to get laid soon. It's disgusting! One man even used the justification: Well, she likes flowers! She may like them but I swear you'd be getting a much harder fucking if you had a well thought-out personalised gift in mind.

Your loss I suppose.

As for me! I got 3 new bruises and a bucket load of rope for valentines, oh, and I'm not allowed to talk when I'm on the tube. Suits me just fine.

The archbishop of Canterbury is a very intelligent man. I have no problems with this. The fact that he can discredit the whole 'virgin birth' idea and still retain his faith is a little odd but I'm sure he has his own philisophical reasons for loving the mother-hating, I'll-only-heal-jews-and-to-hell-with-the-rest-of-you scamp who is Jesus H Fucking Christ.

His intelligence leaves me with a modicum of respect for the man, not something I grant most fishies I encounter. They may be nice people, I may get along with them just fine, but respect is not something which should be granted to anyone who would willingly subjegate themselves for an invisible sky-daddy, albeit only once a week.

I don't like it when people I respect and who's opinions I mostly trust come out with something as terrifying as: Sharia law will be introduced in this country in the next 20 years. It scares the crap out of me, and should scare the crap out of everyone else. Because you know what? He's probably right.

Look at the PC crap muslims get away with. Heaven forbid we point out that half of its followers openly despise democracy and would kill you rather than treat you as if you were a fellow human being because apparently a life of chastity and fatwahs makes you holier than every other person on the fucking planet. And somehow, in this model of the universe, 'holy' translates into 'better'.

Goddamn these people make me angry.

On the other hand, I am thinking about buying a hijab. Why? I hear you cry! Its a symbol of male oppression in a backwards religion practiced only to give its followers a free pass into lala-magic-land where they'll happily frolic forever with booze (I think its nectar actually but I'm sticking to my guns)

Its because! When I have a bad hair day, I tie a hijab around my head. When I can't find the hairbrush, same deal. When I want to look inconspicuous or I just want the repressed men in my part of London to LEAVE ME THE FUCK ALONE (seriously guys, I don't want you to have my number) I put on a hijab. It would be nice to have a proper one just as a deterrant to the rest of the world.

See! Its not sexism or oppression at work. Female muslims are just misanthropes, and I will happily join their ranks.

There are many reasons I find it hard to accept that my body is nothing more than an over-hyped machine, spuriously and sickeningly romanticised by other people with the same equipment like some sort of insufferable PS3 fanboy club. Even considering that this might be the truth upsets me and has led to many debates in which I come across as some sort of religious nut and my opponent smirks at me with a quiet acknowledgement of their intellectual superiority.

So today I offer proof.

This is the day I find out whether Sarah Lawrence will allow me to grace their hallways. This also marks the first time in around 9 years that I've actually bothered trying to do anything with my life and any failure will surely drive me to be an office worker of the most mundane kind for all eternity.

My mind has accepted this. I'm quite nervos but regardless my head has decided that what will be will be and as I have very little influence over the final decision short of winning the lottery and adding a wing to the place I should just relax and be content to live out my bland and dreary existance in peace.

Try telling that to my body which has subsequently decided that we are in Defcon1. I don't mean to be crude but that I can stray 5 metres from the bathroom to come type this up is nothing short of a miracle and if my teeth or my head could stop aching any time soon that would be an added bonus.

But of course they won't. Because that would mean I had some semblance of control over the damned thing. And I don't. So fuck you science.